


No Romance (Merely That Which Is)

by AuroraExecution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraExecution/pseuds/AuroraExecution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is tired of sweet nothings and romantic comedy cliches. </p>
            </blockquote>





	No Romance (Merely That Which Is)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dysonrules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/gifts).



> Periodically I have the intense desire to write a fic that goes against cliches, and this is it. The title was remade from a quote by author Sheri S. Tepper. (If you're curious, I just searched up the quote for the fic. I haven't ever read her works.)
> 
> Extremely late birthday present for [](http://dysonrules.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dysonrules.livejournal.com/)**dysonrules**. 

Everyone he has ever been with has said the same sweet sentimental loving things, the “I don’t deserve someone as wonderful as you” and the “would you like to come up for a drink” and the “I want to see your face while I make love to you”.  Sometimes, Harry feels like he’s living in a bad romance novel, the kind Ginny reads and, now that they’ve overcome the awkwardness of being exes, gleefully recounts to him during their weekly lunch appointment. 

Ginny said them too, once, but he could understand her doing it, at least, since she was just a teenager at the time and hadn’t known to do anything else.  It was only after they had broken up and she was free to explore her life that she had grown into the woman she was now, who knew her way around and tended toward the sarcastic depending on her mood.  She had always been strong, really, but she had truly blossomed on her own.  Her love affair with Harry had started to seem a little too predestined and expected after the war, and they had never really known much besides each other.  It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, but they came to realize “I love you more than anyone else” needed a comparison to be true.  Even Hermione and Ron had broken up a couple times after Hogwarts—their relationship had always been rather stormy—and after several failed and brief relationships with other people had realized they did, in fact, love each other more than anyone else. 

Ginny and Harry had not ended up with Hermione and Ron’s happy ending.  Ginny found that she rather liked being her own person, rather than just the girl who was meant to marry Harry Potter, and that the love they shared didn’t feel quite like what she wanted out of her potential husband.  By the time they got over the fact that they were exes and began hanging out again, Harry found Ginny was changed—grown up and wise in the ways of the world, not content anymore with being a perfect bride or sweet housewife. 

When they had started their lunch dates, Ginny had been dating another Quidditch player.  Harry disliked him, but not so much because he was jealous as because Ginny’s boyfriend was a vain git.  It was strange, but Harry found himself unable to work up the motivation to be jealous of Ginny’s boyfriends anymore.  It was good, though, because Ginny followed up douchey Quidditch player with several other boyfriends, some of whom Harry had more tolerance for than others.  To Ginny’s great consternation and concern, however, Harry started dating less and less, to the point where he stopped dating altogether. 

It wasn’t just girls.  Harry had dated several women after Ginny, then tried to switch to men in the hopes that it would help, but none of his partners ever left off being exceptionally careful and gentle and sweet.  And now Harry’s sick of the lovey-dovey talk, sick of pretending he wants to be coddled and spoiled and have sickly-sweet rom-com conversations.  It’s not that he doesn’t want romance at all—after all, he fully admits he likes the idea of a quiet walk in the park or sharing lazy kisses on a Sunday morning.  It’s just that he feels inundated by all the sweetness all the time, syrupy and cloying around him.  He wants someone who won’t hold back, who won’t just say what they know he wants to hear, who isn’t full of greeting card soppiness and melodramatic emotions.  Maybe it’s the Slytherin part of him coming into play. 

The first time Ginny suggests it, Harry refuses point-blank.  After all, it’s Draco Malfoy.  And certainly, if Ginny’s recommending him it must mean that not only has Malfoy become less of a git, but that he has gotten over his dislike of the Weasleys and managed to get into Ginny’s good graces.  But it’s still the boy he hated at school.  Harry can’t imagine it will work. 

Hermione introduces a friend of a friend after that, and Harry spends several weeks getting to know Jason, who is responsible and kind, if boringly normal.  Harry tries very hard, because that’s the Gryffindor in him, but after week four he finds he’s struggling to respond to all the sweet nothings.  Whenever he hears a “I don’t know why you chose me” or a “I’d really love to take you somewhere nice like you deserve” he feels obligated to respond with equal amounts of saccharine sentiment.  He begins to find that he doesn’t want to come up with romantic twaddle, that he’s forcing himself to respond to something he finds sickening. 

Despite the fact that he feels rather bad, he ends up breaking up with Jason.  He tries to tell Jason it’s just that their personalities don’t mesh as well as everyone had hoped, but Jason ends up crying anyway.  Even through the guilt, Harry can’t help the feeling that he’d like, for once, to have a lover who he’s not certain will cry when they break up.  Not, of course, one he’s not certain will care, but one who might just remain stoic intentionally, because he’s so sick of his breakups coming straight out of Ginny’s novels. 

At this point, Ginny suggests Draco Malfoy again, _who really is quite delectable, Harry, and in fact seems to be at least a little interested in you, and I swear he’s not that bad anymore_.  Harry can’t imagine he’d get on with Malfoy enough to engage in a relationship, though he does have the stray thought that at least it would be a change of pace.  He refuses, though, because really he’s sick of too-perfect relationships, and the idea of Draco Malfoy and himself in a pink-heart romance is just too much. 

In January, Ginny presses him to try dating again, since it’s been six months and she wants him to have someone for Valentine’s.  Harry wants to stay wrapped up in work and avoid the tooth-rotting sugar of a girlfriend, but Ginny introduces Philomena from Quidditch.  Ginny is insistent and Philomena actually seems rather sensible if somewhat shy, so Harry figures, why not? 

Philomena stays away from sugary sweet nothings for a while, but then Harry realizes it’s only because of her shyness.  Once she gets comfortable enough in their relationship, suddenly Harry is darling and love and honey and sweetie, and there are way too many iterations of “It must have been fate that I met you”.  Harry tries like a good Gryffindor, he really does, but his inner Slytherin wins out.  At the end of March he’s broken up with Philomena, who makes a valiant attempt not to cry but bursts into tears approximately fifteen seconds into Harry’s apology.  Harry feels guilty, but he figures she’s better off with someone who actually _wants_ to do the whispering-cuddling-cooing thing. 

Ginny leaves him alone for a while, but by July she’s on his case again.  When she mentions three times in one lunch date that Draco Malfoy is available again and they would make the strangest but hottest couple, Harry finally breaks down and agrees to give it a go.  The smirk she gives him is rather frightening in its intensity. 

On their first date, Harry decides that Draco really is as arrogant as he remembers, but he has managed to become much less of a git.  He apparently gets on rather well with Ginny and Hermione both now, but he doesn’t ever behave as though it’s an honor for him to be on a date with Harry.  After all, they’ve known each other since the age of eleven, and fought each other tooth and nail in the halls of Hogwarts.  As someone who always insulted Harry’s supposed desire for attention—which, Harry admitted to himself, he occasionally did want when he was in school, like the year Ron was Head Boy and on the Quidditch team and Harry was neither of those things—Draco would never treat Harry differently than any other date. 

It surprises Harry, though, how much more mature Draco seems now, and at the same time Harry is also impressed by the way Draco wears his pride for all to see.  He has not become a shadow of himself since the war; not Voldemort, nor Ministry trials, nor the actions of his family as Death Eaters have cowed Draco into placidity. 

On their third date, at Harry’s front door, Draco does not ask Harry about drinks or declare his own unworthiness or the serendipity of their meeting.  Instead, Draco simply says what he wants, and Harry finds himself uncharacteristically amenable to the situation.  In the morning, Draco neither makes breakfast nor gets up to see him off.  Harry rather enjoys annoying Draco into wakefulness so they can get in a little kissing before work.  They agree through a short but direct conversation, a week after their third date, that they are officially a couple, complete with fidelity and potential key-sharing and everything. 

Ginny makes fun of him, but Harry is happy.  He continues his relationship with Draco from there.  Draco very rarely makes breakfast, even at his own house, and Harry figures that means it serves Draco right that he has to eat whatever Harry ends up making, even if it’s just toast and jam.  They argue about the shopping and whether Harry needs a new sofa, and they fight over Draco’s persistent stalker-ex.  Draco cleans Harry’s flat from time to time, because Harry doesn’t plan on getting a house-elf for it and avoids chores.  Sometimes on the weekends they take quiet walks in the park and many Sunday mornings are spent lazing around in bed together.  Draco calls him “Harry” or “Potter”, but mostly doesn’t call him anything at all when talking directly to him.  Harry is never on either end of painfully soppy sentiments, but he knows, when Draco steps between Harry and stalker-ex, that Draco wants to protect him and cares very deeply. 

In November they break up.  Draco doesn’t cry. 

It’s not that Draco doesn’t care, of that Harry is certain.  Draco was always too stubborn for his own good, besides which Harry notices that Draco essentially vanishes from the face of the earth for an entire month before returning to normal society. 

Harry’s friends try to talk to him about it, but Harry won’t say a thing.  Despite what they think, he liked having Draco as his boyfriend.  Draco is interesting and entertaining.  He has small quirks that amuse Harry to no end, and their childhood rivalry has graduated into a somewhat toned-down adult goading.  The two of them challenged each other, which Harry enjoyed immensely.  He also liked the directness, the fact that he knew Draco would never purposely flatter him or sweet-talk him or, Merlin forbid, speak in love songs.  He even, really, liked the fact that they fought from time to time, because, firstly, it made him more certain of their relationship when they made up, and, secondly, Ginny had been right about make-up sex. 

But what he really doesn’t want to explain to his friends is that he, for once, wanted to keep a relationship.  He doesn’t want to tell them about the argument that ended it, that Draco wanted Harry to talk about the past, and Harry had refused, and then it had escalated into a war of spite and bringing up every hurtful thing about each other that they knew.  He doesn’t want to see his friends stare at him pityingly, not understanding. 

Once, Harry had broken up with a girl, who came back to make up with him in the rain.  It was dramatic and emotional, and he’d felt like he was filming _The Notebook_ , a movie he’d been unfortunate enough to see at a girls’ night with Ginny and Luna.  He’d made up with several boyfriends and girlfriends in similarly dramatic ways in the past—generally at strange times of night, via unlikely means of transportation, or in extreme weather. 

The make-up with Draco is gratifyingly anti-climactic.  Draco appears at his house on a sunny Saturday morning and simply asks him if he’d like to get together again, since they obviously both want to.  Harry can’t bring himself to refuse, because he’s missed this funny quiet relationship that doesn’t require him to be more than he is. 

At his next lunch date with Ginny two weeks later, Harry tells her what he likes about Draco is that he never makes Harry feel like they’re living at Madam Puddifoot’s.  There are no flowers and bubbles and sparkles, just an easy, no-nonsense, _real_ sort of partnership.    Ginny simply smirks at him in that way of hers that he’s seriously starting to suspect she caught from Draco, and makes an altogether-too-smug noise of agreement. 

When he steps in his front door that evening, Draco looks up from his reading on the sofa. 

“Harry,” Draco says. 

There is a brief pause. 

“I love you.”  It tumbles out of Harry’s mouth without warning. 

Draco stands and moves toward him, and suddenly Harry thinks maybe it’s his turn, that he’s being too cloying for Draco and now he’ll finally learn how it feels to be the one who cries like a romance heroine. 

“Maudlin git,” whispers Draco, shaking his head in fond exasperation. 

At this, Harry grins and kisses Draco in reply, bubbles and sugarplums be damned.


End file.
